


Diamonds Floating in Rum

by baku_midnight



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkwardness, Confident!Dwight & Enamoured!David, House Party, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 00:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_midnight/pseuds/baku_midnight
Summary: At a party, Dwight asks David for a strange favour.





	Diamonds Floating in Rum

**Author's Note:**

> Little more lighthearted than the last one. Am I the only one out here obsessed with sexually confident!Dwight?

It’s not that David didn’t like parties, but this one, held in the sprawling first-floor penthouse of a well-heeled stranger, wasn’t exactly a banger. Montreal was a university town, of ancient buildings and cobblestone streets repurposed with some of the most modern amenities around, and pubs that stayed open well past his bedtime, but he hadn’t been into the whole scene as of recently.

 

David was lucky to enter straight into McGill’s pharmacology program, saved from the humiliation of _academic probation_ after a few too many brawls at the pub and missed exams thanks to transfer credits, and he wasn’t about to lose his second chance at success now by boozing it up every weekend night like a lot of his cohorts. Not to mention, having only been a few months in the country, he didn’t exactly know anybody too closely, save Claudette.

 

This was her fault, really. It was all because she begged him, with those brown, watery eyes staring right into his, saying, “ _s’il-t’plait_ , I barely know anybody there, I’m so bad at parties and I hardly ever get invited but I think I really want to go—!” blah, blah, blah, and David was practically putty in her hands. He grunted and followed along, making a show of his distaste.

 

It was actually a friend of a friend _of a friend_ of some imprecise relation to Claudette who was putting on the whole thing: Ace Visconti, a marketing executive for energy giant MacMillan Industries, whose success was almost suspicious in its extreme alacrity, decided to throw open his doors to everyone he knew, it seemed. He invited Laurie, a lawyer from Lampkin and Associates who worked closely with MacMillan, who in turn asked Quentin, a runner at the firm, who invited Jake, the pharmacist at Lery’s Memorial who provided Quentin’s insomnia medication, who invited Claudette, a shy, but very talented compounder, who convinced David, who was finishing the second of his two practicums at Lery’s, to come along as well.

 

David sipped his lager as he looked around the room. Most everyone was young, no older than David himself, save for Ace, whose presence stood out like a single grey hair on a head of all brown. He was definitely the type that clung to his youth with wholeheartedness, uninterested in settling down and growing old. For the longest time, David saw his own future that way, partying until morning broke, getting into fights with any bloke that looked at him funny, never taking a thing serious in life. It took the threat of jail after he got involved with the wrong sort to straighten him up again, and David was happy for the second chance. For that reason, he sipped his beer very, very gingerly.

 

The guests were mingling, slightly drunken voices rising over the din of the party and the soft music in the background. Quentin and Min—one of Claudette’s online friends, also recruited for the purpose—were playing Xbox on the chesterfield, quietly in their own little world while conversation blossomed around them. Meg and Nea, a student and teaching assistant from McGill, respectively, who had overheard David fretting about the party and all but invited themselves, were chatting and munching on chips over the kitchen counter. Laurie—cute, in her fashionably-unfashionable sort of way—was laughing at one of Jake’s biting criticisms of society he termed “jokes”. Claudette was chatting animatedly to a stranger, probably about plants and how fascinating they were, and the woman was nodding appreciatively while most likely looking for an exit. David snorted and leaned against the doorway.

 

Admittedly, there was one other reason David had decided to come along, aside from Claudette’s big eyes—God, but he was a _disaster_ around big, brown eyes—and that reason was standing idly in the kitchenette, one arm crossed over his chest and the other holding an imported ale. Dwight Fairfield worked at the university, his job title still rather nebulous and often changing, always appearing here and there, seemingly involved in everything from special events, to publishing, to secretarial work. Dwight was plain until one looked closely, when one saw he was, frankly, _gorgeous,_ with a pointed nose, slightly rounded cheeks, big eyes and a pouting bottom lip. His shirt fit snuggly over his shoulders and narrow waist, his glasses were black-framed and stylish, and his tie was always adorably tangled or tucked in between two buttons to keep it from flying into his face while he rushed about.

 

David watched Dwight come and go at the university, always with a friendly smile and a greeting for David, or with cheeks reddened with effort as he dashed by without a single word. He was drawn to Dwight, comforted by his presence, uplifted, somehow, by his plain beauty and subtle emotion. Dwight was lovely, but didn’t seem the risk-taking type, and David knew how much of a risk he appeared. Volatile, furtive—though he could insist it was all an act, one he was trying to drop gradually since arriving in the country, he still knew how he appeared. But it’s not like he planned on making a move any time soon, but ogling him from across the room while the music pumped and the booze flowed was a pleasant enough way to pass the evening.

 

Dwight looked up, suddenly, and caught David’s eye, gaze widening as he noticed him. He smiled, waved, and then he was marching over with a sense of purpose so keen it rather made David’s head spin.

 

“Hi,” Dwight said, leaning against the counter opposite David, swirling the last of his IPA in its bottle and resting back on his other arm. “I didn’t know _you_ knew Ace.”

 

David rose up on his heels and wondered if he was being too obvious in flexing his shoulders. He shook his head, raising his voice just a little over the background din. “Didn’t, really. Claudette brought me—er, long story. Seems like an okay bloke, though.” He gestured with his beer bottle. “How do you know ’im?”

 

Dwight nodded curtly, taking a pull of ale. “I helped him with some paperwork one time, and we’ve been friends ever since, I guess.”

 

David tipped his head. His heart was speeding up just a little as his conscious mind kindly pointed out how soft the skin of Dwight’s wrists looked, how kissable his neck and how hold-able his waist. Dwight was dressed in just a thin, colourful t-shirt advertising a pizza restaurant, and well-worn jeans, much different from his usual work attire of a white shirt and neat black trousers. They watched each other in silence, David attempting to think of some sort of icebreaker aside from “can I order an extra-large with sausage to go?”, until Dwight spoke.

 

“Can you do me a favour?” Dwight asked, and David nodded before he even knew what he was agreeing to, so eager he was to impress him.

 

“Sure, what do I need to do?” David asked, and was lucky he didn’t take another sip of beer because he would’ve spit it all out when Dwight answered,

 

“Have sex with me.”

 

David’s heartrate leapt from “cute guy alert” speed to “holy mother of code reds” speed pretty much immediately, his eyes going wide.

 

“You what?” he stammered out, planting his beer firmly on the counter before it fell right out of his suddenly sweaty hands.

 

“Not for real, just, I wanna make people _think_ we did it,” Dwight explained, as easily as if he were reading the instructions for how to cook a microwave dinner, “I’m just…”

 

He looked over at Meg, who was sitting on the counter now and chatting with Nea, leaning close enough to be heard over the music—or maybe she had another motivation for sitting close enough to climb in Nea’s lap—and lowered his voice. “It’s just, everyone keeps bugging me to hook up with Meg and I’m just not interested. I’m sick of people getting involved in my business.”

 

“Don’t like girls?” David asked, nodding sagely, bewildered by the sprig of hope that grew up in his chest.

 

“Girls are fine,” Dwight answered vaguely, waving his hand, “it’s just, we’ve been friends since we were _kids_ , it’d be _weird_. And besides, I just want people to back off already.”

 

David nodded, brow furrowing with thought. It kinda made his heart jump all around in his chest like a ball in a pinball machine, but it sort-of made sense. His mind was scrambling for reasons to agree, since his heart and _body_ were pretty much already _there_.

 

“If we just like, go into the other room together, and make a bunch of noise, then the rest is history. You know, rumours, drunk people at a party—it’ll take care of itself,” Dwight explained, finishing the rest of his beer and putting the bottle on the counter where it hit with a loud _tap_. He stared at David, waiting for his answer, at which moment David realized his eyes were huge and _brown_.

 

“You sure you want everyone to think you had it off with a random bloke at a party?” David asked, tipping his chin deliberately and pointing his thumb at himself, “everyone’s gonna be talking about it.”

 

“That’s the point,” Dwight insisted, stepping closer, “it won’t be the first time people have made assumptions about me. I’m just gonna use it to my advantage, this time,” his eyes were gentle, but a little worried, like he expected David to leave him hanging or make fun of him. David couldn’t even dream of a scenario wherein he let Dwight down.

 

He was about to get roped into something ridiculous by a pair of big, brown eyes for the second time in one night.

 

“Alright, mate,” David agreed, “lead the way.”

 

Dwight took his hand and led him down the hall, and David’s cheeks flooded pink. It added to the illusion, he thought, blushing as pragmatically as possible as they weaved through partygoers and ended up at the bedroom.

 

“Here,” Dwight whispered, poking his elbow into David’s side, “we gotta make a big show of it.”

 

David nodded, and then Dwight was throwing his arms around David’s neck, practically hanging off of him like an excited koala.

 

“Come on, big guy,” Dwight said, loud enough to catch the attention of a pair of people stood in the hall, “I think we should go somewhere more _private_.”

 

It would’ve been funny, the exaggerated, hammy way Dwight was talking, like he was flirting with the clueless protagonist in some softcore porno, but David could only stare and nod dumbly, putting his hands awkwardly on Dwight’s waist to keep him from falling.

 

A few people were looking at the two of them, turning their heads curiously at the display and then quickly away, as if they were spying on something private. Dwight leaned up and kissed him messily on the lips and David didn’t know how onlookers reacted to that, because at that moment his brain turned to liquid and melted out of his ears.

 

Dwight pushed him into the bedroom, grabbing eagerly at his coat, yanking on the fabric and chuckling playfully as he did so, slamming the door deliberately closed behind them. The second they were alone, Dwight moved away from David and planted his hands on his hips.

 

“Alright,” Dwight said, demeanor changing so quickly it made David do a double-take, his blood attempting to return to where it was supposed to be in his body as the mood ran suddenly cool and business-like. “I think we need to jump on the bed a little bit, make a little noise, then go back out in like, whaddya say—ten minutes?”

 

David just stared blankly for a moment, body still trying to catch up to the logical part of his brain that reminded him, “you’re just playing, you daft knob-end!”

 

“Right, we should probably bang on the walls, too,” David suggested, “with our _hands_ , I mean,” he hastened to add, flushing, and Dwight agreed with a rapid nod.

 

“Good idea,” Dwight said, and leapt up onto the bed, making sure the mattress squeaked as much as possible when he landed.

 

David was half-expecting Ace to have a waterbed, or maybe one of those massaging beds they had in old motels, but no, luckily for their purpose, it seemed the man went for the classic mattress and box-spring combo.

 

“Now, are you gonna get up in here and _fuck_ me, or what?” Dwight asked, loud enough that it would be heard outside the door, and David felt the hair on his neck stand on end.

 

There was something acutely weird about this, but David was starting to like it. It still took a moment for his body to get the message that his mind was desperately trying to tell it: even though all the clues may’ve been there, this was NOT what a guy climbing into bed with you usually entailed. They were, after all, just playing pretend. Make-believe. Closer than David expected he was going to get any time soon, anyway, and he laughed as he threw off his jacket and tossed it into a pile on the other side of the room.

 

David rolled up his sleeves and hopped up on the bed next to Dwight, making as much noise as he could as he crawled about on the bed, shuffling the duvet around and crumpling the fabric raucously.

 

“You want it bad, love?” David said, projecting his voice to their audience in the hall. He imagined scandalized faces in the hallway and was emboldened further, climbing up so he was on his hands and knees over Dwight, looking down at his face. “You want me to punish you, you bad boy?”

 

Dwight was trying to hold in a laugh, pressing his fingers over his mouth. He squirmed on the mattress beneath David, kicking his feet while he guffawed silently into his hands. “Yes, I’ve been such a _bad boy!_ Give it to me hard, daddy!”

 

David was caught between a sting of laughter at that last word and a punch of sudden arousal. Joking or no, hearing Dwight ask for it was gonna make David’s stomach flip in a major way, because no matter how hard he told it, his body couldn’t much tell the difference between a fake come-on and a real one.

 

“Alright, come ’ere,” David said, rustling the sheets, snatching and tossing a pillow against the wall. He sat up on his knees and started to bounce up and down, making the mattress squeak in rhythm.

 

“Oh, yes!” Dwight called out, turning around and reaching up to bang his fists on the wall. The wall—adjoining the kitchenette, if David recalled—thudded angrily, echoing loudly in the chamber. “Yes, yes, give it to me hard!”

 

Then, Dwight started moaning, loud and overdone, of course, but David’s ears had trouble telling the difference, and the heat went straight to his belly. He ran his hands over his face, which was heating up more and more by the second.

 

“You like that, love?” David called out, trying not to laugh hysterically, hands practically shaking as he bounced on the mattress like a trampoline.

 

“Yes, yes,” Dwight yelled, “oh, God, you’re so _big_ …”

 

David almost fainted at that one.

 

“Not fair,” David said quietly, pointing an accusing finger.

 

“Sorry,” Dwight mouthed, sheepish smile on his reddened face. “Big finale?” he whispered, and David nodded quickly.

 

Dwight started moaning more loudly, and with vigor, his voice skipping into higher and higher octaves as he pounded on the wall with his fist, wriggling his hips while David bounced the bed, adding his own overwrought grunts and moans to the chorus, voices rising in intensity until Dwight was practically _singing_ his fake pleasure, and David let out a loud, gruff groan as Dwight screamed his pretend orgasm and fell still. David stopped moving, letting the leaping of the mattress slow to a natural halt, and then it was just the two of them, staring at each other in a silent room, the sounds of simulated sex still hanging in the air like an echo.

 

Dwight was listening intently for sounds in the hall, and the two of them heard an exasperated “oh my God!” followed by an “are you fucking kidding me?” signaling their efforts successful. Dwight laughed into his hand and looked up at David with a slightly red face, lightly sweating scalp and such a pleased smile on his face David couldn’t help but reach out for him.

 

David pulled Dwight down beneath him by the hips and went in for his neck, sucking excitedly at the white skin like a lamprey. Dwight yelped a little in surprise, hands going to David’s shoulders.

 

“For authenticity,” David mumbled, and Dwight nodded.

 

“Right, gotcha,” Dwight chuckled, letting David lap and suck hickeys into his neck. When he was done, David examined his work, finding Dwight bright-eyed and curious beneath him. It was far too much to bear, and David had to turn away before he did something he would regret in a few hours.

 

Dwight sat up, rubbing his neck, the line of red welts there purpling by the second. He smiled sheepishly and got to his feet.

 

He mussed up his hair and then went back into the hall, trailing a still-flabbergasted David past a series of onlookers.

 

“Have fun in there?” asked a stranger, and Dwight beamed, smugness befitting his ruffled look.

 

“Yup,” Dwight chuckled, and the young man shook his head in response.

 

“I did _not_ need to hear that with my own ears,” he gave an exaggerated shudder, and Dwight just shrugged.

 

“Well, Martin, I think I proved my point, at least,” Dwight huffed, and his cohort gave a meek smile.

 

Guests looked at them curiously as they passed, some giggling hysterically and others just rolling their eyes, and by the time they got to the kitchen, attention on the pair of them was dwindling. News would spread quickly enough, however, so Dwight’s scheme was a success. David stood a few feet back, scratching his head and thinking blithely about getting shitfaced for the first time since the semester started. He needed at least another beer after that ordeal.

 

“Bring down the house while you’re at it, why don’t you,” Jake mumbled as Dwight entered the kitchen. He was irritatingly observant, and talented, too, mixing flawless drinks at the counter without really even looking. David merely stared from the doorframe as Dwight preened and nodded with vigor.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said as he brushed a few strands of hair from his neck, drawing attention to the decorations left there. Jake just shook his head in disbelief.

 

“I guess people are gonna lay off on the whole ‘Meg’ thing, now,” Jake mumbled, and Dwight made a play of shrugging.

 

“That’s their prerogative; I’m just enjoying the party,” Dwight said charmingly, and David tried not to fall more and more for him with every single of twitch of his sweet, pink lips.

 

“What ‘me’ thing?” Meg called, and David turned to see her actually _in_ Nea’s lap now, feeding her ketchup chips with all the grace and romance of an elementary-schooler. Jake just waved a hand at her in a “never mind”-type gesture.

 

The party continued without interruption, save for Ace’s occasional attempts to get people involved in a myriad of tacky games from beer pong to limbo, to varying degrees of success. On his second beer, David was still just staring at Dwight. It was all just pretend, what they’d done, but it was awfully hard to get his body, and especially his heart, to understand that. His member gave a few eager twitches that had David pulling at the zip of his jeans, gaping openly at Dwight, who looked so pleased with himself it was intoxicating. He couldn’t help but wonder how he would look after doing the deed for real.

 

“Thanks, by the way,” Dwight said, when he’d circled back into David’s orbit, and he clinked their beer bottles together in triumph.

 

“Cheers,” David replied, and took another sip of beer, swishing the bitter liquid in his mouth, though little could replace the taste of Dwight's lips on his. “Didn't hafta kiss me, though.”

 

Dwight flushed, then he looked honestly concerned he'd pushed a little too far. "Sorry. It was for authenticity, you know. Like these," he gestured to his neck, the red hickeys turning dark purple and navy blue. David scratched his neck. That might've been a momentary lapse of control, and one he couldn't blame on anything but his own sense. Something seemed neatly square about it, however, and God, he knew he'd love seeing the marks of his effort on Dwight's neck.

 

David bit the inside of his cheek. "Why me, though?"

 

Dwight shrugged, playful smirk back on his face, “I dunno, you were the first guy I saw.”

 

“Plenty of others here before me,” David challenged, “and others you _don’t_ see at work every day.” Dwight ducked his head.

 

“You think I could get Jake to agree to something like that? I’m not sure his vocabulary even contains the _word_ ‘yes’,” Dwight teased, and David frowned. There was something else at work here, something that maybe his heart and body were right to linger on, even despite his mind.

 

“Yeah, but he’s not the only man on earth, much as ’e might like that,” David said, lowering his voice, a light sparking up in his chest at Dwight’s laugh. “There’s gotta be some reason.”

 

“Okay, truth be told, I knew you would say yes,” Dwight mumbled, and David raised an eyebrow.

 

“Sayin’ I’m easy, love?” David frowned, and Dwight just laughed.

 

“No, no, you’re just sweet,” Dwight explained, “I’ve known it for a long time. You’re sweet and you’d do what I asked because you’re just a nice guy who cares about people.”

 

David blushed like a carnation, thumbing his nose. “Right, well…”

 

Dwight chuckled again, taking a swig of his beer, a mix of alcohol and warmth on his cheeks. His brown eyes, even behind his glasses, were shiny like diamonds floating in rum, and twice as precious.

 

“Plus, you’re one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen, and, I mean, if people are gonna spread rumours about me, I want them to be _good,_ ” Dwight said, turning on his heel, and David nearly choked.

 

“Alright, you can’t just say something like that and then leave,” David mumbled, stepping into Dwight’s instep, which he easily sidestepped, hips swaying as he walked through the crowd in the kitchen, David following.

 

“Well, who knows? Maybe next party…?” Dwight said vaguely, and David shook his head in disbelief, still utterly charmed.

 

If David knew anything, it was that it wasn’t going to take until the next time a friend of a friend threw a party to get him into Dwight’s bed for real.


End file.
